


Secret Love: The Prequel

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Series: Secret Love [2]
Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anxious Chris Evans, Death of a family pet, Dodger being crazy, F/M, Fluff, Lobby Hero mustache, Upset Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The story of how you and Chris fell in love.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader
Series: Secret Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613596
Comments: 49
Kudos: 145





	1. How We Met

You were barely holding it together.

You'd been crying off and on for most of the day, sometimes sobbing, sometimes nothing more than a few tears sliding down your cheeks. You'd called your boss and begged for the morning off, which he agreed to give you, in fact, he'd offered to give your late afternoon interview to one of your colleagues, but you'd refused, promising that you'd be fine by then.

There was no way you were giving up that interview. It literally could make or break your career. It wasn't every day that a simple online magazine with a small readership scored an interview with a Hollywood heavyweight. Nor was it every day that you were lucky enough to nab that interview for yourself. Despite the day you'd had, you were going to do your job and do it well.

Once you got to the hotel where the press junket was taking place, you ducked into the nearest bathroom to wash your hands and check your face in the mirror. Your eyes were still kind of red and puffy and your makeup needed to be touched up, but you were somewhat presentable. You quickly fixed your makeup, ran your fingers through your hair, and put on some chapstick - forget the lipstick, you were nervous and gnawing on your lips anyway - then you pulled your bag over your shoulder, yanked open the bathroom door, and headed for the elevators, displaying a confidence you weren't feeling.

Twenty minutes later, you were ushered into a large suite on one of the upper floors by a blonde woman with glasses. Sitting in one of the chairs, laughing, head thrown back, hand on his chest, lighting up the room like a ray of sunshine was the man you were here to interview. As soon as he saw you, he jumped to his feet and extended his hand.

"Hi," he smiled warmly. "I'm Chris."

"I'm Y/N, Mr. Evans," you smiled nervously.

"Oh man, call me Chris, please," he laughed. "I feel old when you call me Mr. Evans.” He gestured to the seat across from him and sat down. 

His smile was so sweet and genuine, even under the god-awful mustache, that you were having a hard time concentrating. You sat down, almost missing the chair, your bag falling to the ground with a loud thunk. You reached into your bag and tried to find your notebook, but of course, you couldn’t, so you had to pull the damn thing onto your lap and search through it, your head practically all the way inside of it, finally finding it under your tampons, two empty gum wrappers, and four tubes of chapstick. You yanked it free, dropped the bag back to the floor, and hit the record button on your phone.

“Okay,” you sighed. “Um...let’s see...Mr. Evans…”

“Chris,” he corrected.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled. “Chris.” You cleared your throat and stared at the list of questions in your notebook. They all seemed stupid and lame and he’d probably heard them all before. You also had a list of questions you couldn’t ask and ones you should ask. None of them seemed like a good first question.

You glanced up at him, sure he was thinking you were an idiot. He was watching you, stroking the hideous mustache on his face that he’d grown for his stint in the Broadway show, Lobby Hero.

“How do you feel your acting translates to the screen versus how it translates on stage?” you blurted.

You must have asked the right question because Chris’s bright blue eyes widened and then he launched into a detailed explanation of how his acting was different onstage versus on film. After that, the questions seemed to flow much easier and before you knew it, your time was up.

You rose to your feet, Chris doing the same, then he shook your hand, squeezing it gently.

“Thank you for not asking about the mustache,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” you giggled.

The door on the other side of the room opened and to your surprise, Chris’s dog, Dodger bounded inside, heading straight for his master, and by default, you. He barreled into you, knocking you backward, forcing you to one knee, his paw on your leg, his face inches from yours.

“Josh!” Chris yelled over your head. “What the hell, man?”

Fresh tears poured down your face and a choked sob left you. You rested your head on Dodger’s and ran your hand up and down his flank, murmuring ‘good boy, good boy’ over and over again.

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” Chris said, crouching beside you. “I’m so sorry. Dodger can be a dumbass sometimes. He got overly excited when he saw me.” He took your elbow and helped you to your feet, his face a mask of concern.

“I-I’m f-fine,” you stammered. “I, uh, I had to put my dog down this morning, so, I’ve uh…” You scrubbed a hand across your face and dragged in a deep breath. You snatched your bag off the chair and scrambled backward, shaking your head at Chris’s confused expression. “I’m really sorry.”

You turned and ran, not even thinking about how incredibly unprofessional it looked or how stupid you probably seemed. You had been doing okay, not even thinking about this morning at all or the fact that you’d had to put your best friend for the last sixteen years down until Dodger came in and you went into a tailspin. You couldn’t believe you had blurted out something so personal to a complete stranger.

You were full-on sobbing by the time you got outside, so much so that you had to sit on one of the benches at a bus stop and drag in several deep breaths before you could even begin to think about heading for the subway. You couldn’t believe you’d just made a fool of yourself in front of Chris Evans. You’d be lucky if you got to keep your job at the magazine.

“Can this day be over already?” you muttered to yourself.

* * *

You considered going to the office for about two seconds, then ditched that idea to head home instead. On the subway, you texted your boss and told him about the interview, leaving out what had happened at the end. Thanks to the day you’d had, he was more than agreeable when you asked if it was okay to finish up the article at home. You promised to be in early so he could look it over and get it ready for publication.

You stood outside your apartment door for almost five minutes, until nosy Mrs. Morton from across the hall peeked her head out and asked you if you were okay. You nodded and smiled, shoved the key in the lock and went inside. You were crying before you’d closed the door behind yourself, the ache at the loss of your dog settling deep in your bones.

You changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, made some hot chocolate, grabbed your laptop and phone, and made yourself comfortable on your bed. You kept the box of tissues close and you flat out refused to even glance toward the corner where Buddy’s bed had been. In a fit of unrestrained grief, shortly after returning from the vet’s office, you’d thrown all of his things in a box and shoved it in the back of the closet.

God, you missed him.

You forced yourself to work, quickly typing up a rough draft of your interview. You turned on some music, quiet, just for background noise. You lost yourself in what you were doing; when you finally shut your laptop, you were surprised to see that it was almost seven and that you were actually hungry.

You stretched your arms over your head and climbed out of bed. You were halfway down the hall on the way to the kitchen when your phone rang. You darted back into the bedroom and snatched it off the bed.

“Hello?”

“Um...may I speak to Y/N, please?”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and stared at the screen. You recognized that voice, but there was no way in hell he would be calling you.

“Speaking,” you murmured.

“Hi, Y/N, it’s...uh...it’s Chris. Chris Evans. We met earlier today -”

As if he had to remind you of who he was. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hold in the unrestrained, nervous giggle trying to escape you. You closed your eyes and counted to ten, slowly.

“I remember,” you finally said. “How...how did you get my number?”

“I called the magazine, asked them if I could have your number. I said I wanted to follow up with our interview and that my assistant had forgotten to get it. It took some finagling and some convincing, but I finally got it.”

“Okay,” you replied, drawing out the word.

“God, that sounded so creepy,” Chris muttered. “Jesus, Chris, get a grip.” He cleared his throat. “Let me start over. I wanted to apologize, again, for the way Dodger behaved this afternoon. He’s really a very sweet dog with good intentions. He must have sensed you like dogs, so that’s why he ran over to you. Also, I’m really sorry about your dog. I can’t believe you sat through that whole interview after what you went through. You were so kind and professional after having gone through that. I don’t know how you did it.”

“Th-thank you,” you managed to squeak out. You tried to take a deep breath, but instead, you made some odd choked sound that probably made the man on the other end half-deaf and then you promptly burst into tears.

“Shit! Now I made you cry. I’m so sorry!”

“D-don’t apologize,” you stammered. “It’s not your fault. I’ve had a really rough day and you’re being so nice -” Another round of fresh tears stopped you from finishing your sentence. You were unbelievably grateful that Chris couldn’t see you, not with snot and tears running down your face, your eyes puffy and red, and your hair sticking to your sweaty neck and face. You were a mess. It was bad enough that he had to listen to you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you snorted, then promptly began sobbing again.

You heard Chris chuckle and then his voice penetrated the pounding rush of blood in your head. “Hey, it’s okay. We could spend all night apologizing back and forth, but instead, why don’t you tell me about your pup? I’d love to hear about him.”

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe. Talk about Buddy. You could do that.

“Buddy was the best. He was a border collie, more black than white, so sweet it was almost unbelievable. And so gentle.”

You sat at your kitchen counter with a glass of wine, some cheese, and a box of crackers, and spent the next two hours talking to Chris. You talked about your dog, his dog, dogs you had when you were little, dogs you wanted to have someday, the weather, the city, every topic under the sun. He was surprisingly easy to talk to and you had a lot in common, more than you’d ever imagined. He talked about his family, his brother and sisters, his mom and dad, and how much he missed Massachusetts. You told him about your job, your family, and everything you could imagine. You connected with him on a level you’d never thought possible. It scared you a little, the connection you felt. You wondered if he felt it, too.

About nine-thirty, Chris let out a big sigh. “I should go,” he murmured. “I have an early morning.”

“Oh, okay,” you replied. “Sorry I kept you on the phone forever.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” Chris laughed. “I loved talking to you.” He paused and cleared his throat. You could have sworn he sounded nervous. “Would you, uh, like to meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon? There’s a great coffee shop near the theatre…”

“I’d love to,” you blurted.

“Great, great. I’ll text you the address. How about two or three tomorrow?”

“That sounds wonderful.” You were grinning and you probably sounded like an idiot, but you didn’t care.

You had a date with Chris Evans.


	2. The First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your date with Chris doesn’t start out as you expected.

It was almost three and still no Chris.

You kept glancing at the door to the coffee shop, then at your phone, checking the time. You were sure Chris had said to meet him at two-thirty. Just to be on the safe side and to ease your mind, you checked the text message again, the one you’d probably read three thousand times since he’d sent it to you last night.

_ I’ll see you tomorrow at two-thirty _ .

You’d barely slept last night after talking to Chris. You couldn’t believe he’d called you, or that he wanted to talk to you, or that the two of you had spent more than two hours on the phone. It felt like you were living someone else’s life, some cool, confident woman who didn’t trip over her own feet or lose her phone in her too-big purse. Grabbing coffee with a celebrity was someone else’s life, not yours.

Your knee bounced up and down and your fingers tap, tap, tapped on the table. When the clock on your phone read three p.m., you shoved your things in your oversized purse and rose to your feet with a heavy sigh. At least you’d have a great story to tell your friends. “ _Hey, I was stood up by Captain America”_. You couldn’t wait to share this one with your best friend. She’d think it was hysterical.

You stalked across the restaurant and yanked open the door, promptly running into a tall, attractive man who looked vaguely familiar. He mumbled “excuse me” before surveying the room.

You stopped in front of him and, as you tended to do, spoke before thinking about what you were going to say.

“Aren’t you Scott Evans?”

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, turning his attention to you. “Do I know you?”

“Uh, no,” you shook your head. “I, uh, well, I know your brother, Chris.”

“By any chance, are you Y/N?” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. “How do you know my name?” you snorted.

Scott’s smile was warm, friendly. He crossed his arms in a poor imitation of you and chuckled, sounding so much like his brother it was a little scary. “Chris sent me,” he replied.

“Chris sent you? Why?”

Scott took your elbow and steered you away from the door. He glanced out the window and huffed a loud, irritated sigh. “The paparazzi,” he stated. “Pictures of him walking Dodger this morning and heading into the theatre earlier are posted online. He’s worried they’re hanging out, waiting for him. He didn’t want your first date to be scrutinized by the whole world. I was sent to ask you if you’d mind having coffee with him at the theatre?”

A warm feeling spread through your chest. Your brain got stuck on the words “first date”. “Um, no, not at all,” you breathed. “That sounds great.”

“Great, let me grab the coffee and we’ll be on our way. What are you having?”

You gave Scott your order and waited by the door. You couldn’t help but look out the window, wondering if you’d see anyone with a camera lurking, waiting to snap an unflattering photo.

“Ready?”

You jumped, almost hitting Scott for the second time that morning. You bit your lip and nodded. You followed him out the door, suddenly very self-conscious about the way you looked. But more worrisome than how you looked was the thought that someone might snap a photo and somehow connect it to Chris. You could only imagine the gossip that would come from that. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that kind of scrutiny.

You caught up with Scott, scurrying along beside him as he hurried down the street. He asked you a few pointed questions, questions any brother would ask, but especially the brother of someone as famous as Chris. Things like how you’d met, where you lived, and where you worked. He seemed unimpressed that you were a writer for a magazine, not that you were surprised. A reporter wasn’t exactly the ideal potential girlfriend for a celebrity.

You pinched your leg - hard - and reminded yourself that you weren’t anyone’s girlfriend, especially not Chris Evans’ girlfriend. You weren’t even sure you qualified as a potential girlfriend. This was just coffee, nothing more.

_ “Scott called it a date,” _ your overeager brain reminded you. You told it to shut up.

You reached the theatre in just a few minutes. Scott led you around the back and opened the door, ushering you inside. You followed him down a dimly lit hallway, past rehearsal rooms and dressing rooms, finally coming to a stop in front of a half-open door with Chris’s name written on a half slip of paper taped haphazardly to the door.

“Comin’ in,” Scott called, pushing the door open with his elbow.

Chris bounded to his feet when you came in, standing in front of a mirror that ran the length of the counter behind him. He was wearing a worn, but tight Journey t-shirt, gray sweats, and a backward baseball cap. Dodger was curled up on a small loveseat shoved up against one wall, but as soon as you stepped in the room, his head popped up, tipped to one side, an adorable doggie grin on his face. He jumped off the loveseat, raced across the room, and leaned his head against your leg. You immediately dropped to your knees, cradled his head in your hands, and scratched him behind the ears.

“Hey, boy, how are you?” you murmured.

“You found her,” Chris chuckled.

“I did,” Scott replied in a sing-songy voice. “Just where you said I would.”

You rose to your feet, your hand still on Dodger’s head. “Hi,” you said shyly. 

“Hey,” Chris smiled. “I’m really sorry about this.”.

You shook your head. “Please don’t apologize. It’s okay, really.”

Chris took the coffee from Scott and set it on the table in front of the mirror, then he picked up Dodger’s leash. “Come on, boy,” he said, snapping his fingers.

Dodger stared up at you like he didn’t want to leave, a sad, woeful expression on his face. He leaned into you as if begging you to save him from his master.

“Come on, Bubba,” Chris laughed. “Y/N isn’t gonna let you stay, either.”

Dodger hung his head and went to Chris’s side, almost reluctantly. Chris attached his leash, then he knelt in front of his dog. Your heart swelled at the sight. He was so sweet and so good with his dog, which didn’t surprise you at all. What it did do was make you miss your dog, even more than you already did. You felt tears welling up in your eyes, so you turned away, your hand pressed to your mouth, eyes closed. You heard Chris murmuring to Scott, then the quiet tap of Dodger’s nails heading down the hall.

A warm, large hand settled in the center of your back. “Are you okay?” Chris asked, his lips mere inches from your ear.

You forced a smile on your face and turned to face him. “Yeah, um, just memories of my pup, you know?”

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry,” Chris breathed. “I shouldn’t have brought him down. He gets antsy when I’m at the theatre, so Scott or Josh will bring him down once or twice a week to hang out. I didn’t even think about it -”

“Are we going to spend the whole time apologizing to one another?” you teased, despite the tears in your eyes.

“No,” Chris grinned. He plucked the coffee cups from the drink holder, gestured for you to sit on the love seat, handed you your coffee, then he sat down beside you.

The love seat was so small his knee pressed against yours and you could smell the faint hint of his cologne. You wanted to press your nose against his chest and inhale deeply. You had a feeling a lot of women would want to do that. The thought made you a little jealous.

“So, Scott said the paparazzi were out in full force today?” You took a sip of coffee and hoped Chris didn’t notice that your hands were shaking. You were so nervous and if you were being honest with yourself, you thought maybe Chris might be, too. His eyes kept darting around and his fingers were tapping against his knee. You wondered if the two of you would be able to ease back into the comfort zone you’d been in last night when you’d been on the phone.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Some days are worse than others. First thing this morning, they caught me out walking Dodger. Then they caught me coming into the theatre. My mom calls me with updates.”

“She calls you with updates?” you giggled.

“She likes to let me know when she sees unflattering pictures of me. Of course, right now…” He gestured vaguely at the mustache and raised an eyebrow.

“They’re all unflattering,” you finished.

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “I can’t wait to shave this thing off.”

“Just a couple more weeks, right?”

“Just one. The damn thing is coming off the end of the week,” Chris smirked. “Thank God.”

Without even thinking about what you were doing, you patted Chris on the knee and gave him your biggest smile. “I still like you, even with the hideous pornstache.”

“Ouch,” Chris gasped, clutching his chest. “That hurts.”

The two of you erupted in laughter. The small bit of tension that had surrounded you seemed to ease and then Chris was talking about the play and how he loved working on Broadway. You loved how excited he was to talk about it, bringing out the reporter in you and before you knew it, you were asking him what seemed like a million questions, every one of which he answered.

“I’m monopolizing the conversation,” he said after a while. “Talking about myself.”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “It’s obvious you are really enjoying being a part of this show.”

“Have you seen it?” Chris asked.

“Um...no.”

Chris tipped his head to one side and stared at you for almost a full thirty seconds before he said anything. “Would you like to?”

“I, uh...yes, I’d love to.”

“I’ll get you tickets,” he said. “Friday night?”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

Chris sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his phone in his hand. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Just one ticket? Is there anyone you’d like to bring?”

“No, just me,” you smiled.

“So, no significant other?” he asked quietly.

“How long have you been waiting to ask me that question?”

“Since yesterday,” he mumbled. “During the interview. I didn’t think it would be appropriate.”

“So instead, you call my boss and get my number?” you teased.

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring that up,” he chuckled. “I still can’t believe I did that.” Chris’s cheeks were flushed pink and he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You edged closer to him until your legs were touching. You put your hand on his and squeezed. “I’m glad you did,” you whispered. “You called me when I really needed someone to talk to and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. I was feeling really low and you helped me immensely.”

“And then like a jerk, I took advantage and asked you on a date,” he shrugged.

“Really? I thought I took advantage of your kindness and conned you into asking me out,” you laughed. “And is that what this is? A date? I thought it was just coffee?” You were surprised you were able to pull off coy so well when your stomach was twisting nervously. You weren’t normally this flirty and the fact that it was a famous celebrity had you questioning who the heck you thought you were.

“Hmm, I’m thinking it’s a date,” Chris murmured, turning to face you, his arm on the back of the love seat. “What about you?”

“Well, trust me, if anyone were to ask, I had a date with Chris Evans.”

“Is anybody going to ask?” Chris inquired, one eyebrow raised.

“Nope,” you shook your head. “What goes on between you and me is nobody’s business but ours.”

Chris leaned a little closer, his blue eyes sparkling, his arm falling from the back of the couch to rest in the center of your back. He was going to kiss you and you were going to try not to pass out.

A knock on the door startled both of you, making you jump, the top of your head smacking Chris on the chin, his mouth snapping closed with a loud clack of his teeth. Your hand flew to the top of your head and you burst out laughing.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you sputtered.

“Chris,” a male voice called from the other side of the door.

“That’s the stage manager,” Chris explained. “He has impeccable timing.” He rubbed his chin as he stood up and held out his hand. You took it and let him pull you to your feet. “I have to go.”

“You’re always running out on me,” you grinned.

“I beg to differ,” he chuckled. “You ran out on me first.”

The adorable smirk on his face, even under the goofy mustache, made your brain melt and words become elusive. You shrugged and shook your head, dropping your eyes to stare at the floor. You couldn’t believe you’d been flirting with him; that wasn’t something you usually did. Of course, something about Chris made you throw all your former inhibitions out the window.

“Chris, let’s go!” the male voice yelled again.

“Shit,” he muttered, shooting a look over his shoulder at the door then back at you, wincing. “I mean, crap.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’ll um...see you on Friday?”

Chris nodded and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “I’ll call you,” he promised. “Later, tonight.”

Then he was gone, leaving you standing alone in his dressing room, your hand pressed to your cheek where he had kissed you.


	3. Closing Night

The butterflies in his stomach weren't normal. Maybe they had been the first week or so of the show, but they were done, finished, playing their last show of the run, so butterflies in the stomach  _ weren't _ normal. He shouldn't be feeling like this.

Except Y/N was supposed to be in the audience and for some reason, that was freaking him out.

Chris reminded himself that this show was no different than any other show; he’d done this countless times, performed in front of his parents, his friends, and his family. Critics had come and gone, other actors with far more experience on the Broadway stage than he could ever hope to have had seen the show, but all of those paled in comparison to this one.

He wanted it to be perfect. For  _ her _ .

Of course, his brain had to step in and twist everything around, talking nonsense, making him wonder what would happen if she didn't show up?

The thought had Chris grabbing his phone and messaging Scott.

_ Is she here? _

_ She just sat down _ .

Relieved, Chris let loose the breath he'd been holding. It had been irrational for him to think she wouldn't come. They'd been talking off and on all week, both texting and phone conversations. When they'd talked last night, she'd mentioned how excited she was to see the show. He, in turn, had told her how excited he was to see her. And he was. He'd been waiting all week to see her, ever since they'd had coffee. He was anxiously awaiting their second date.

Their second date was scheduled for tonight after the show. They were getting a very late dinner at a small restaurant downtown. Chris’s manager knew the owner and had pulled a few strings, getting them a private table late at night; basically, a private dinner. Y/N had been hesitant at first, concerned that he was doing too much just for a date with her, but he’d assured her it was so they would have the privacy Chris so desperately craved. He didn't need a bunch of cameras in his face while he was on a date.

He adjusted his uniform and took one last look in the mirror. Only a couple of more hours and he could shave off the mustache. He couldn't wait. It was definitely coming off before his date.

* * *

Chris saw her the second he stepped out of his dressing room, his eyes immediately drawn to her. She was standing off to one side of the stage, shifting from foot to foot, looking as if she felt completely out of her element, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes darting around the backstage area. When they landed on him, her smile widened, which made his heart do a funny double-clutch in his chest. He hurried across the theatre, stopping beside her, his hand resting lightly on the middle of her back.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi,” Y/N murmured. 

“What’d you think of the show?” he asked.

“That was...you were amazing! Phenomenal. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“I’m so glad you were able to come,” he replied. He couldn’t resist, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. It was only after he’d kissed her that he realized she was alone. “Hey, where’s Scott? He was supposed to wait with you?”

“He got a phone call, stepped around the corner.” She pointed to a little alcove at the side of the stage. Sure enough, Chris could see Scott, pressed against the wall, talking on his phone.

“You mean, he deserted you?” Chris teased.

“I didn’t desert her,” Scott mumbled, coming up behind them. “I was talking to Zach.” He bumped his shoulder into Chris’s. “Great show, bro. And thank God, the mustache is gone. Now I won’t feel like I’m talking to Dad anymore.”

Chris smiled and rubbed his fingers over his face, where the mustache had once been. The minute he’d gotten into his dressing room, he’d grabbed his razor and shaved it off. He’d never been so happy to see his face clean-shaven.

“Your car’s here,” Scott said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m gonna head out. I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t want a ride home?”

“No, I’m good,” his brother laughed, dropping a wink. Chris prayed that Y/N didn’t see it. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.”

And with that, he was gone, weaving through the crowd, leaving him alone with Y/N. And suddenly, Chris was nervous all over again.

He’d been overanalyzing this moment all day, trying to prepare himself for it. Wrapping his head around why he was so nervous had been nearly impossible until Scott had put in his two cents worth.

“It’s because she’s normal and you’re, well, not,” his brother had explained.

“What do you mean, I’m not normal?” Chris had huffed, immediately irritated.

“You know you’re not normal, Chris,” Scott had scolded. “You can’t walk down the street like a normal person, go to a restaurant like a normal person, go on a date like a normal person. You know that. Y/N can do all that. She’s normal and you’re not.”

“Okay,” he’d said, drawing out the word. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be normal, have normal things like normal people. You know I hate that part of being a celebrity. I just want to live my life. It sucks that I can’t.”

“So, maybe you’re nervous because you know that dating you is a huge change for someone who’s used to normal. Look at what happened with Jenny. Your celebrity is overwhelming. Imagine someone who’d not used to that kind of thing being thrust into the limelight. You’re not nervous for  _ you _ , you’re nervous for  _ her _ .”

Chris had initially scoffed at the idea, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to think his brother was right.

How could he expect someone like Y/N - sweet, innocent, normal - to want to date someone with a crazy, unpredictable life like his? Bottom line? He couldn’t.

“Earth to Chris,” she murmured, tugging on his sleeve.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Off in thought.” He took her hand, their fingers intertwined. “You ready?”

“I am,” she smiled shyly, averting her eyes.

That smile made his head spin and his heart pound. He resisted the urge to lean over and kiss her. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist the urge for long.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be amazing, relaxing, and fun. It was probable that he had a few too many drinks - nerves did that to him - and maybe he talked a little bit too much, but Y/N seemed to be having fun, smiling and laughing, chatting openly with him. He could get used to spending time with her. In fact, he was already trying to figure out what they could do on their next date.

“You know this is crazy, right?” she asked, interrupting the plans he was already forming in his head.

“What?”

“This,” she murmured, gesturing around the restaurant. “A private dinner in one of New York’s best restaurants? It’s...it’s insane.”

“Does it bother you?” Chris asked. “That I did this? Arranged for us to have the place to ourselves?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “A little, I guess. It’s weird, for me anyway. I’m not used to stuff like this. If you’re doing it to impress me -”

“That’s not why I did it,” he interrupted her. “I swear.” He needed her to understand that he was definitely not doing this in a misguided attempt to impress her.

“Then why?”

Chris took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I know that dating me can be...well, overwhelming. The paparazzi, the press, the fans, all of it. It’s not exactly easy for me to go out in public by myself, let alone with someone. I was trying to keep things normal, keep the press from eating you alive before we got a chance to know each other. Past experience has taught me that once the press gets involved in my relationships, they tend to end rather quickly. I’m sorry. I guess I went too far.”

Y/N reached across the table and took his hand. “You didn’t,” she whispered. “I’m such a jerk. I honestly thought that you were doing all this to impress me. It never occurred to me that you were trying to protect me. That’s very sweet of you.”

Chris shrugged one shoulder and forced a smile onto his face. He couldn’t help but feel as if he was messing everything up, regardless of what she said.

“Did I tell you that you looked beautiful tonight?” he said.

She giggled and shook her head. “Now you’re changing the subject and trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” he laughed.

“A little,” she nodded.

Chris leaned on the table and took both of her hands in his. “You really do look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes downcast, staring at the tabletop. “But you’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. Unfortunately, the waiter chose that moment to appear and offer to refill their wine glasses, but Chris waved him off. “No, thank you.”

He turned back to Y/N, who was looking pointedly at her watch. He looked at his own and to his surprise, discovered it was almost midnight.

“We should go,” she said. “I have to work tomorrow. I have a deadline.”

Chris nodded and rose to his feet. He excused himself to take care of the bill and when he returned to the table, Y/N was waiting with her sweater thrown over her shoulders. He took her hand and led her out the back of the restaurant to their waiting car. He helped her inside, then slid in beside her.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled to a stop in front of her apartment building. She turned to him, her hand on his arm. His stomach dropped and he couldn’t help but worry that she was going to brush him off; after all, she’d been very quiet on the drive to her apartment and he took that as a bad sign.

“You don’t have to walk me in,” she said quietly.

“I want to,” he replied.

“You can’t,” she shook her head. “I have the world’s nosiest neighbor.” Her smile lit up her entire face. “Trust me, I would love to have you come up for a cup of coffee, but Mrs. Morton would lose her mind. I happen to know she’s a huge fan of Captain America.”

“Oh, yeah?” he grinned. “And what about you? Are you a fan of Cap?”

“More than you know,” she murmured.

“How about a raincheck on the coffee?” he asked. “We’ll figure out how to sneak me in without -”

“Mrs. Morton,” she said helpfully.

“Without Mrs. Morton seeing me,” he finished.

“That sounds great,” she sighed, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.

Chris brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and traced her jaw, tucking his thumb under her chin and tipping her head back. “Can I at least kiss you good night?” he whispered.

She nodded, her eyes locked on his. He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, careful not to overstep his bounds. Y/N’s hand snaked around the back of his neck, her nails scratching at the short hairs there. She pulled gently, urging him closer, her lips parting, and before he knew what was happening, the kiss became something more, something he didn’t want to end.

Unfortunately, a blaring horn sounded outside the window, startling them both, breaking them apart.

“Can I call you later?” Chris asked as he watched her gather her things into her arms.

“I’ll be upset if you don’t,” she smiled. She opened the door and turned to go, but stopped abruptly, swung around, and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. 

He reached for her, maybe to drag her back into the car, convince her to stay with him, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was he didn’t want the night to end.

“Tell Dodger ‘hi’ for me,” she said and then she was gone, the door slamming closed behind her.

Chris watched her run up the sidewalk and into her building, smiling when she turned back to look at him before going inside. 


	4. Covert Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You invite Chris over for dinner.

You floated down the hallway, your feet barely touching the floor, not even when Mrs. Morton opened her door and peered out at you. You waved at her as you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You leaned against the hard oak once you’d closed it behind you and slipped off your heels. Your cheeks ached from smiling so much and your lips burned from the heat of Chris’s kiss. You closed your eyes and pictured the kiss again, the thought of it only fueling your desire for the man who had given it to you. Your date with Chris had been the single best date you’d ever had.

At first, you’d thought Chris was showing off, flaunting his celebrity status and his money by taking you to a fancy restaurant for a private dinner. It wasn’t until he’d explained  _ why _ he’d done it that you began to understand exactly what he was thinking.

The thought simultaneously warmed your heart and scared the shit out of you.

You pushed away from the door, dropped your purse and jacket on the couch, and headed for the bedroom. Twenty minutes later you were snuggled under the blankets replaying the kiss over and over again. You drifted off with Chris’s smile behind your eyes.

* * *

Of course, you overslept, thanks to the late night and the thoroughly lovely dream you hadn’t wanted to wake up from, a dream with you and Chris walking Dodger through a moonlit park, all alone, just the three of you. You hadn’t wanted it to end, as evidenced by the multiple times you’d hit snooze. Once you finally dragged yourself out of bed, you barely had time to shower, foregoing the hairdryer and make-up in order to get out the door to your subway on time.

You didn’t even glance at your phone until you got on the subway at eight-thirty, squeezed between a couple of high school students and an older woman going to Brooklyn to visit her grandchildren, a fact she kept reminding you of by shoving photos in your face. After nearly ten minutes, you managed to politely brush her off and pulled your phone from your purse. You had three text messages from Chris. Just seeing his name in your notifications sent a warm gush of heat racing through you and a near-hysterical giggle rising in your throat, one you somehow managed to suppress.

_ 7:02 a.m. Good morning. _

_ 7:17 a.m. I hope you slept well. _

_ 7:35 a.m. Do you have time to meet for coffee before work? Dodger wants to say hi. _

The last one had come a little over an hour ago and you had not responded to him. In fact, you’d been in the shower, wiping soap out of your eyes and cursing the crappy start to your day when that one had come through. You hadn’t even known you had messages from him; you’d thrown your phone in your bag and sprinted out the door, intent on catching the last train that would get you to work on time. You silently cursed yourself out, angry that you had missed a chance to see Chris  _ and _ that he probably thought you were ignoring him. You took a deep breath and quickly typed out a message.

_ I’m so sorry! I overslept and barely made my train. Can I get a raincheck? _

You hit send, wondering if he would decide to ignore you like he undoubtedly thought you’d done to him. You held your breath as the three little dots blinked and blinked and blinked…

_ Definitely. Dinner later tonight? _

You smiled to yourself, relief flooding you.

_ How about I cook for you? I make pretty decent fried chicken _ .

Chris readily agreed. You promised to text him later with more details, such as the best time for him to come over and how you could sneak him past Mrs. Morton. His last question made your day about a million times better.

_ Can Dodger come? _

You, of course, said yes. Any more conversation was interrupted by the train pulling to a stop and everyone shoving past you to get off. You dropped your phone back in your purse and followed the crowds to the surface.

* * *

You rushed around your apartment, trying to get it looking halfway decent before Chris arrived. The chicken was almost ready, you’d bought a ready-made salad and the sweet potatoes were baking. You had roughly ten minutes before Chris would be at the door, buzzing to get in, which was barely enough time to finish cleaning up and to put yourself together. You stepped into the bathroom, took a second to run your fingers through your hair and straighten your clothes before yanking the door closed and returning to the kitchen. You’d just pulled the chicken out of the frying pan when the intercom buzzed, signaling Chris’s arrival.

You quickly covered the chicken to keep it warm, then you hit the button on the intercom. 

“Hello?”

“It’s us,” Chris’s voice floated through the air.

You were sure he could hear the smile in your voice as you explained to him how you were going to sneak him past Mrs. Morton. The plan was pretty simple; you’d distract her by borrowing an egg or sugar or something while Chris hurried into your apartment. Fortunately, the elevator was around the corner, so he could wait without being seen. You opened the door and hurried down the hall, the elevator opening just as you came around the corner.

As soon as Dodger saw you, he leapt forward, straining at his leash. You dropped to your knees and scratched between his ears.

“Hi, Dodger,” you cooed. “How are you?”

Dodger’s entire body moved in response, shaking side to side, a goofy doggy smile on his face. You gave him a few more scratches before rising to your feet. Chris stepped closer, his hand falling to your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Your eyes slipped closed as his lips brushed against your skin, sending a not-unpleasant chill through you.

“You ready for this?” you asked.

“I think so,” Chris chuckled. “I’m pretty good at covert operations.”

You tugged on his arm, getting him to look around the corner. “That open door is mine,” you said, pointing at your apartment door. “You wait here while I go knock on Mrs. Morton’s door. Once I get in her apartment, get in there, quick. She’s always afraid of missing something, so she’ll get impatient if I take too long.”

“Okay,” Chris nodded.

“Let’s do this,” you giggled, suddenly giddy with anticipation. This was actually kind of fun. You hurried back down the hall, knocked on Mrs. Morton’s door, and of course, it immediately opened, as if your nosy neighbor had been standing just on the other side. You were sure she had been.

“Hi, Mrs. Morton,” you smiled, desperately holding back the giggle rising in your throat. “I was, uh, wondering if I could borrow a couple of eggs?”

“Of course, dear,” she said. “Come on in.” She opened the door wider and gestured for you to follow her. 

You glanced over your shoulder, catching Chris’s eye for just a moment before stepping inside and pushing the door closed behind you.

Mrs. Morton was babbling, something about Julian and Jennifer, the couple down the hall from you, the latest gossip about the volatile couple and their frequent arguments. You nodded in what you hoped were all the right places, trying your best to seem somewhat interested. You shifted nervously from foot to foot as your neighbor took the eggs from the refrigerator and put them in a bright pink bowl. You thanked her repeatedly as she walked you back to the door, praying that the less than five minutes you’d been in her apartment had been enough.

You stepped into the hallway, but you didn’t see Chris anywhere. You said your goodbyes to Mrs. Morton, walked the three or four steps across the hall into your apartment and shut the door.

“Chris?”

He peered around the corner, Dodger still at his side. He waved at you, which made you laugh again.

“Are we safe?” he asked, setting a bottle of expensive looking wine on the counter.

“For now,” you said. “We’ll have to come up with some way to sneak you back out, but we’ll worry about that later.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, tipped his head to one side, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hmm, maybe I’ll just have to stay,” he murmured.

Heat rose in your cheeks and your stomach fluttered. You swallowed nervously. “Um...uh, dinner should be ready,” you mumbled.

“Great, can I help with anything?”

How was it possible that he was so  _ normal _ ? It constantly took you by surprise and made you like him more and more every time you were together.

“You could open that bottle of wine you brought and pour us a couple of glasses?” you suggested, pointing to the bottle on the table. “I’ll get everything to the table.”

It only took a few minutes to get everything ready, even with Dodger dancing around your feet. After a stern word and look from Chris, he laid on the floor a few feet from the table, his head on his paws, watching the two of you as you sat down to eat.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m really nervous about this,” you admitted. “I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time?”

“Oh? How long?” Chris asked.

That question started an awkward conversation about exes, yours as well as his. Of course, you knew who Chris had been dating, thanks to the gossip sites, though you were sure that a lot of what you’d read was exaggerated. You, on the other hand, hadn’t been in a long term relationship in quite a while - several years to be exact - a fact you thought might bother Chris, but to your surprise, he took the news in stride. He even opened up a little about his previous relationships, in particular his most recent. It didn’t take a detective to figure out he’d been really hurt, more than anyone might have imagined.

After you finished eating, Chris helped you clear the table and do the dishes, while Dodger stayed underfoot, probably hoping to catch a table scrap or two. With both of you working on cleaning up, it didn’t take long to get the dishwasher loaded and pots and pans washed. Once everything was put away, you and Chris headed for the living room with the bottle of wine and some chocolate chip cookies you’d bought at the bakery near work.

Just as you were about to sit down, Chris excused himself, disappearing back into the kitchen, his phone in his hand. You sat down at the end of the couch, laughing when Dodger jumped up beside you and laid down.

“Tomorrow, for sure,” you heard Chris say. “I’ll call when I’m ready to leave.” You could see him pacing in front of the counter, phone pressed to his ear, one hand shoved in the pocket of his jeans. “Yes, Mom, I promise.”

“Sorry,” he said when he came back into the living room. “My mom. She’s been calling and texting me all night. If I hadn’t answered, she would have just kept trying.” He stopped in front of you, a lopsided grin on his face. “Looks like Dodger took my spot.”

You couldn’t help but giggle and scratch Dodger between his ears. “He’s so hard to resist. I mean, look at this adorable face.”

As if on cue, Dodger looked up at Chris, his head tipped to one side, his tail thumping against the couch. Chris laughed, snapped his fingers, and pointed at the floor. Dodger immediately jumped down, curled up on the floor, and promptly fell asleep.

Chris dropped to the couch beside you and took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing across the back of your knuckles. You handed him his glass of wine and took a sip from yours.

“I’ve been avoiding bringing this up all night,” Chris sighed. “But, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” You didn’t like the sound of that at all. He sounded serious and not in a good way.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” you murmured.

“I’m going back to Massachusetts,” he explained. “Now that the show is over, I’m heading back. That was the plan all along. The lease is up on my apartment at the end of the week and I have obligations back home.”

“Oh, um, of course, you do.”

“The thing is, I...well, I kind of like you -”

The statement took you by surprise, not because you didn’t think Chris liked you, but because the way he said it sounded eerily like something a boy had once said to you in fourth grade. That thought had you slapping a hand over your mouth to hold back the giggle you felt bubbling to the surface. Instead, a very loud snort escaped you, which only made it harder not to laugh, resulting in yet another snort. You dissolved into a giggling mess, tears streaming down your cheeks, your face pressed against Chris’s shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dodger looking at you as if you’d lost your mind.

Chris chuckled and shook his head, his arm sliding around your waist. “That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting. Or hoping for.” 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I really didn’t. You just took me by surprise.”

He took hold of your chin, tipped your head back, and brushed a kiss across your lips. A shiver ran through you as Chris pulled you closer, the kiss deepening. You sighed when he released you.

“What I’m trying to say is that I like you, Y/N, and I’d like to keep seeing you,” Chris murmured. 

“Even though you’re going back to Massachusetts?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he nodded, “even though I’m going home. I was hoping we could work it out.”

You’d be crazy to say no, but then again, you might be crazy to say yes. Chris’s world was not your world, Chris’s world was different than anything you had ever experienced. You weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

But it was Chris and in the short time you had known him, you’d discovered that he wasn’t anything like you’d thought he would be and you wanted a chance to get to know him better.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said.

“Dating you comes with a lot of stuff I’m not sure I’m ready for,” you replied. “I mean...you’re Captain America, you’re friends with some of the most famous people in the world, you make movies that earn billions of dollars, you travel the world -”

“I’m also just Chris,” he interrupted. “I love football and baseball and hockey, I love watching old movies on TV, I love Christmas and Disney movies and hanging out with my friends and family. All that other stuff, the celebrity, that’s not all I am. There’s so much more to me than that. I’d love to show you that side of me.”

“You’ve shown me a little,” you nodded. “I’m not gonna lie, I’d love to see more of that side of you.”

“You will if you keep seeing me,” he smiled.

“All that celebrity stuff makes me nervous,” you said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“What if we keep things between us?”

“What?”

“We’ll keep it between the two of us. No one has to know we’re dating. Only if and when  _ you’re _ ready.” He took both of your hands in his, squeezing them gently.

“How?” You were skeptical. “The press follows you everywhere.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he sighed. “Just...give me a chance, please?” He kissed you again, soft, sweet, gentle, holding back, waiting for you to give him your answer.

How could you say no?

You nodded, laughing as a huge smile spread across Chris’s face and he pulled you into his arms, crushing you to his chest.

“You won’t regret it, Y/N, I promise.”

You prayed he was right.


	5. An Impromptu Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Chris try the long-distance dating thing, but thanks to your busy schedules, you haven’t seen each other in weeks. That pushes you to make an impulsive decision.

It had been almost three weeks since Chris left New York. The two of you had managed a half a dozen phone calls, a couple of FaceTime videos, and hundreds of text messages in the first week alone, but you hadn’t been able to see him because he’d been extremely busy - selling his home in Los Angeles, getting settled in his new place, helping his uncle campaign, and about a million other things celebrities had to do.

You missed him.

You’d been planning a weekend trip to Boston, had your hotel room and everything booked, but you had to cancel when Chris had to go to Atlanta for some top-secret Marvel meeting - his words, not yours. He was gone for three days and so busy you only got about twenty text messages in total. You thought you might be able to go see him once he was home, but a huge assignment fell in your lap at the magazine and you ended up drowning in work. After all, a girl had to make a living. The week passed in a blur, a week in which you hardly talked to Chris at all. By Friday, the day before your article would be posted to the magazine’s main page, you were so exhausted that you came straight home and fell into bed, too tired to even send Chris a text message.

When you woke up, the sun was streaming through your window, lighting up your entire room. You groaned and pulled the blankets over your head. It was too early. You dropped the blanket and peered around the room again. Actually, it wasn’t that early. If the angle of the sun told you anything, it was nearly noon. You sat up with a groan. You had been far more tired than you realized.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand beside the bed. You grabbed it, only to see that you’d missed several calls from Chris, as well as text messages, and one attempt at FaceTime. You quickly hit the button to call him back. Seconds later, his bearded face appeared on your phone.

“Hi,” he grinned. “Long time, no talk.”

“Oh god, I know,” you sighed. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so busy -”

“Do not apologize,” Chris interrupted. “You have a life. I don’t expect you to give it up because of me. By the way, your article was awesome. Great work.”

“Oh my god, I forgot!” You pushed off the blankets and hurried through your apartment to your laptop, which you’d left on the kitchen counter. You opened it, waiting impatiently for it to connect to the internet, then you went to the magazine’s home page. Your article was front and center. 

A joyful squeal escaped you, which made Chris laugh. You’d almost forgotten he was still on the phone. You propped it against the computer screen so you could see him as you skimmed the article and the comments. It seemed to be doing well, which made you extremely happy. Once you had read through some of the comments, you propped your head on your hands and smiled at Chris.

“I miss you,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” he chuckled. “I thought maybe now that you were a big-time writer…”

“Stop that,” you laughed. “My celebrity will never compare with yours.”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffed. “So...I did call for a reason.”

“What?” you asked. You didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“I have to go to Atlanta at the end of next week. I’ll probably be there for a few weeks, maybe longer. We’ve got some reshoots to take care of, a few other things. I know we were going to try to reschedule your trip to Boston for next weekend, but now we won’t be able to and I’m not sure when we can. I’m so sorry.”

“Look, I know what I signed up for when I agreed to date you,” you said.

“I know, it’s just...I thought we might get to spend  _ some _ time together.”

Your phone beeped, signaling an incoming call from your boss at the magazine.

“Shit,” you muttered. “Can I call you back? That’s my boss.”

“Of course,” Chris said.

Reluctantly, you disconnected and took the call from your boss. An idea was brewing, so he really couldn’t have called at a better time. You had a huge favor to ask him. By the time you got off the phone with him, you were smiling so wide your cheeks ached.

* * *

You had no idea how Chris would feel about this, but it was too late to turn back now. You took a deep breath and hit send on your phone.

“Y/N,” he breathed. “I’ve been worried about you. After your text this morning, I thought something was wrong.”

As soon as you’d hung up with your boss, you’d texted Chris and told him you had to work and you’d call him as soon as you got a minute. He’d sent back a string of expletives and a winking emoji, which made you laugh.

“I’m sorry,” you replied. “I had a train to catch. To Boston.”

“What?” You could hear the confusion in his voice.

“I’m at the train station, Back Bay, I think. I need a ride.”

You heard a crash and Chris’s voice got very far away. Then he was back, muttering apologies.

“Are you really here? I mean, you’re really here?”

“Yes,” you laughed. “Can you come to get me?”

“Jesus, yes, sorry. Shit.” More shuffling sounds, Dodger barking, the jingle of keys, then Chris was back. “Stay there. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

You found an empty corner where you could sit and still see the entrance. Your fingers twisted in your lap; you hadn’t realized how nervous you were until you’d actually called Chris. 

What the hell were you doing? You’d come to Boston without a plan, crap, you didn’t even have a hotel. You never did anything this impulsive. You always had a plan. You blew out a shaky breath. Maybe you should just get back on the train and go home. It was still early, not even six o’clock yet. You weren’t even sure that Chris would be happy to see you. Sure, he was coming to get you, he had to be somewhat okay with the fact that you were there. Or maybe he was just being nice.

“Y/N!”

You looked up to see Chris a few feet away, sunglasses on and a Red Sox ball cap pulled low on his head, a smile on his face. You jumped to your feet, ready to apologize, explain that you’d acted impulsively, and you understood if he was angry. You didn’t get a chance because he pulled you into his arms and hugged you so tight you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered when he released you. He shot a glance over his shoulder then he grabbed your bag. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Once you were in his car, your bag in the trunk, the doors closed, the tinted windows blocking anyone’s view, Chris cupped the back of your head, leaned over, and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. When you broke apart, his smile could have lit up a room.

“Wow,” you whispered. “I guess you are glad to see me.”

“Of course I am,” he grinned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, staring out the window as Chris pulled into traffic. “I never do anything impulsive like this, I never take chances like this. I don’t even have a hotel room booked.”

“You can stay with me,” Chris stated matter-of-factly.

“If that’s...I mean...are we...is that where we’re at…” You sounded like an idiot and you knew it.

“I have a guest room, Y/N,” he said. “Several of them in fact. You can take your pick. You don’t have to stay at a hotel. I mean, unless you want to. I can, well, I can make some calls.”

“No!” you said a little too quickly. 

Chris shook his head and chuckled. “Look, all I’m saying is that you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to. But if you do stay with me, there are no expectations on my part. None at all. We can take as much time as you want. I’m just glad you’re here. I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you sighed. “And thank you for being so understanding. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

Chris took your hand and gently squeezed it. “You know who else missed you? Dodger. He is going to be so excited to see you. Be prepared to be knocked over when you walk in the door.”

“I can’t wait to see him,” you laughed.

* * *

Chris wasn’t wrong. Dodger nearly took you out when you walked through the door, jumping all over you and barking loudly until Chris scolded him. He vanished down the hall, dejected.

The two of you followed the dog, stopping outside a half-open door, while Dodger went through a set of wide double doors at the end of the hall. Chris pushed the door open all the way and hit a light switch on the wall. He set your bag on the floor by the wall.

“Will this be okay?” he asked.

You gasped at the sight of the tastefully decorated room. It was gorgeous. Wooden floors covered with a beige rug, a large bed with beige and navy colored sheets, and a luxurious comforter. It looked inviting and comfortable.

“It’s gorgeous,” you murmured. You glanced at Chris out of the corner of your eye. “Can you give me a few minutes to clean up?”

“Of course! There’s a bathroom through there,” Chris said, pointing to a door in the corner of the room. “I’ll order some pizza. If that’s okay?”

“Pizza is great,” you laughed. You pushed up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Give me five minutes?”

Chris nodded and disappeared back down the hall. You pushed the door closed and leaned against it for a few seconds. Maybe this was a mistake. After the kiss in the car, things had become awkward; the drive to his house had been quiet, neither of you had said much at all. Maybe Chris wasn’t happy that you’d just shown up in Boston, uninvited, and interrupted his life. You couldn’t help but wonder if dating Chris was a bad idea after all.

You spent some time cleaning yourself up in the en suite bathroom, even going so far as to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. When you’d finally wasted as much time as you could, you decided you couldn’t hide in the guest room forever, so you took a deep breath and opened the door.

Dodger was lying on the floor in front of the door, a stuffed lion under his head. You immediately dropped to your knees and took his head in your hands, ruffling his fur and cooing at him in baby talk. He ate it up, rolling to his back with a satisfied huff, an adorable doggie grin on his face. 

“You like me, don’t you, buddy?” you whispered.

Dodger stared at you with his big brown eyes and wagged his tail. At least he was happy to see you. He’d probably be upset if you left. When you finally rose to your feet and headed back down the hall, he followed you, his lion in his mouth.

You found Chris in his large, spacious kitchen pulling plates and glasses out of the cupboard. On the counter was a large cheese pizza that smelled absolutely amazing. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were or how long you’d actually been hiding in the bedroom.

“Hey, there you are,” Chris grinned. “I was beginning to think you were hiding from me.”

You snorted, which made Chris turn from the fridge to stare at you.

“What? Were you hiding from me?”

You eased into one of the chairs at the table and put your head down. “Yes,” you said, your voice muffled.

A second later, his hand was on your back, his face inches from yours. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

You sat up and stared into his gorgeous blue eyes. “Are you  _ really _ okay with me being here? I mean, I just showed up, no plan, no hotel, no  _ notice _ , just...boom, here I am.”

Chris shook his head and rose to his feet, dragging you with him. He wrapped his arms around you, his mouth slanting over yours, the kiss shaking you to your core. You moaned, your hands sliding around his neck, your fingers in his hair. When you broke apart, you were both smiling.

“I am so happy you are here,” he whispered. “I’ve really missed you. My brain is racing a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to make the most of our time together. I don’t care that you showed up out of the blue, hell, I wish I’d thought to surprise you in New York. You one-upped me.”

You giggled and pressed your face to his chest, relief flooding you. “Thank God,” you sighed.

“So, we’re good?” Chris asked.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Can we eat now? I’m starving?”

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “You want a beer? Some wine?”

“Wine sounds great,” you said. “Can I help with anything?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Throw those plates and the pizza on the table while I go grab a bottle of wine.” He kissed your temple and took off down the hall. Five seconds later he was back. “Hey.”

“Mmm?”

“I am really, really glad you’re here. You’ll be lucky if I let you go home.” He winked, spun around, and disappeared back the way he’d come.

Dodger put his paw on your leg, almost as if he was reiterating what his owner had just said. You scratched the top of his head and smiled at him.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me a little longer, Dodge.”


End file.
